It was a beautiful summer morning, the sun's rays were just barely peaking out over the hills. The air wasn't as dry as usual, although the dust still blew through the air.
The Saloon was being preped to open for the day, even though the saloon itself did not open until twelve thirty. Tables were being cleaned, floors being dusted, and the kitchen was being prepped. The young man who owned the place, whistled as he cleaned, wiping the sweat from his brow. Owning a place like this by himself was challenging, and the amount of stress he was constantly put under was extrodinary. After the place was to be cleaned, the next job he would have to do was begin to set up the drinks. Those he had to wait until just before the saloon actually opened to grab- if he were to open them any sooner than eleven, they would be warm by the time the first patrons began to stagger in through the door. As Tarrence cleaned, his whistles echoed off of the empty walls, making their way all through the kitchen and restrooms. The only other sounds that could be heard were the slight clicking of his shoes against the wooden panels of the floor. Once the sun was at the right point in the sky, Tarrence began to go down into the cellar. It was a long walk, that always made Tarrence lose his breath, it would make anybody lose their breath. One mile was a long way down, but it was the only place where the air was cold and damp enough to make everything chilled. Tarrence's father had dug for years, not stopping until he could finally reach the place that caused goosebumps to appear up and down this arms. There he built a cellar, a cellar that would lead him to success- even to becoming one of the richest men in the West. The only person he had ever planned to show to or give he cellar to was Tarrence. His young boy, the only other man that woud ever step foot in this deep cellar, that held more secrets than just a few cases of beer.
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The waters were quiet today, the waves lightly caressing the side of the ship as it slowly rocked back and forth. The sun had just begun to rise, the sky turning different shades of orange and pink, as the birds perched on the sails slowly began to awaken.
The peacefulness was almost comical, a strange contrast to what would be going on just an hour or so later, right on the deck of this very ship. Someone’s life would be ended, it wouldn’t be clean, it wouldn’t be pretty, and it sure as hell wouldn’t be peaceful. The captain always loved a challenge, and something about their usual routine of execution just seemed too easy. He wanted more, wanted something that would be more interesting, and humorous to him. As he sat there thinking, watching the sun slowly rise, an idea began to stem. Back on the end of the ship, there was an old single wobbly plank, a fault in the making of the ship a year or so ago. Seagulls were the ones who used it the most, and even their small presence made the plank creak and wobble. It was unstable, and would no doubt crush very easily, breaking off and snapping into the ocean. Then suddenly it hit him, a challenge that any prisoner could decide to choose over immedient death. If the prisoner could last more than a whole minute standing on the plank, he or she would be set free. If not, the plank would snap, and they would be met with their demise. The captain smiled, an evil smile than would make any man turn and run in the opposite direction. He was happy with this idea, happy with the way it would make people believe that they actually had a chance at living. You could either be thrown off, or take a chance by walking the plank. Carmen had never understood superstition, never believing in anything otherworldly or ethereal. She believed that everything could chalk up to science in one way or another, or at least a reasonable solution that made very logical sense.
She lived in a good sized town, with large farms and plots of land scattered for miles all around. Barns were more common than actual houses, coming in varieties and shades of beautiful reds. She herself lived on a farm alone, tending to her herb gardens and flower beds, occasionally going into town and selling them to her neighbors or friends for a bit of extra cash to buy new paints and brushes for the old farm she had always planned to restore. “Now Carmen,” Her father had said, many years ago, when she’d been no more than six years old. “I expect you to always take care of this old place. Make it beautiful, something to be proud of.” She’d smiled, her grin wide, holding her fathers hand as she promised with all of her heart. Carmen had managed to keep that promise, even twenty years later. She’d always taken care of the place, cleaning and repainting the beautiful barn with red. Red, red, it had always been red. Carmen loathed the color. She had never understood why barns had to be such a hideous color of red. Sure, there were different shades of red, lights and darks, but it got so boring after awhile. She’d seen enough red for at least four lifetimes, and she was desperate for a change. For the past year or so Carmen had been collecting different buckets of paints and brushes, working in secret to paint her farm a beautiful crisp white color. The people of the town had looked down upon her, shaking their heads as she came into the paint shop, hands full of jars of coins to pay. You see, everyone in the town knew only a fool would paint their barn a different color other than red. They’d blamed it on luck, saying that red was the only color that would ward off bad spirits and intentions, and if your barn was any color other than red, you would be forced to deal with the consequences. Of course, Carmen had never believed it. Her farm wasn’t going to famish and wither away simply due to the color, it didn’t make any logical sense. So for months she worked, painting and painting and painting. It nearly drove her insane, painting individual flowers and vines, twisting around the large beautiful structure. (not done) Before class began, I didn't know anything about this case. The only things I really knew was that a woman had accused a man named Brett Kavanaugh of sexual assault. So I was, basically, going into today blind.
First, we watched Christine Blasey Ford's opening testimony. To me, it was very interesting, just the way she laid out all of the facts and how she managed to keep such good composure throughout the whole statement. It was clear to me, that this was something that had affected her very very much. My heart had hurt for her, and I had so much empathy for this woman I had never even heard of, prior to this class period. I think she held strong, and some part of me was proud of her for that because I know how hard it must've been. I think one part that was interesting though, was when it came for the questioning. I only got to watch a few minutes of it, but the few minutes I did watch were a bit odd to me. I thought the flying thing was interesting, and it actually did up confusing me. I feel like, for most people, if you do something you're afraid of enough- you lose that fear that you once had. Just the way Christine responded, just seemed a bit interesting to me? Moving on to Brett Kavanaugh- this opening statement was also very interesting to me. It was compelling, but at the same time it was WEIRD. He kept trying to make a point that he loves women, and has women friends and that somehow that helps support his claim that he would never sexually assault somebody. I just don't understand where he thought he was going with that?? It was also baffling to me how he basically said, "Ok yeah something might've happened to Christine but it wasn't me who did that!" Then, when it came to the questioning and his whole demeanor changed. It looked like he got all panicky and defensive, answering the questions very weirdly. Something to me just felt off, really off, and it made me almost angry. I don't think he was telling the full truth, and I definitely think that he did do something. |
AuthorAdeline Colton Archives
November 2018
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